The poem now has to endAs the oasis is just across the bendNot the watery mirage which deceivesBut the satisfaction which the soul receivesProud of the battle-hard scarsEach one telling its own story

But the poem has its own storyOne that is goryBut its dying a soldier's deathProud of it deedOf the fodder it gave my mind to feedBleeds as the blood spurt through the veinIts soul rejoicing this baneThe content eyes it closesThe gushing blood not now oozesAnd the poem is no more.

My mind saluties the sacrifice and hope you guys also pay due respects. :-)